


Paper Planes and Silent Joy

by iam93percentstardust



Series: Cap-Iron Man 2019 Bingo [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Paperman (2012) Fusion, M/M, Mutual Pining, Personal Assistant Steve Rogers, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/pseuds/iam93percentstardust
Summary: Steve's been pining after the man on the platform for three years. When it turns out that the man on the platform works in the building across from him and is having a terrible day, Steve tries to cheer him up with paper airplanes.





	Paper Planes and Silent Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cap-Iron Man Bingo to fulfill prompt S-5: Repression  
I wanted to take a little bit of liberty with the repression prompt and so I started writing a story about Steve Rogers completely repressing how much he hates his boss so he can keep his job and then I ended up writing a story about paper airplanes and somehow, I wound up with 5k words worth of a story where the two main characters say less than thirty words to each other.  
The title is taken from a quote by Samir Bharadwaj.

Steve hates his job.

To be perfectly fair, he’s pretty certain that most people hate their job but he’s equally certain that he hates his job the most because _his _boss is Obadiah Stane. Steve’s been Stane’s PA for almost five years and Stane still hasn’t bothered to learn his name. He fetches coffee and lunch. He fires people because Stane can’t be bothered to do it himself. He’s worked birthdays and holidays and once, memorably, a funeral because Stane hadn’t gotten around to signing off on his bereavement leave until three days after the funeral. He puts up with Stane’s nonstop patronizing because obviously Steve’s just a dumb jock, right?

He’d leave if he could but no one seems to want to hire an art major whose most notable show was almost eight years ago in college. And rent in Brooklyn is expensive so it’s not like he can just quit without having another job lined up. Besides, for all of Stane’s faults, Stark Industries has always been known for treating its employees fairly. He gets great health insurance, fantastic dental, and his paycheck is enough to keep him in the apartment he loves.

So what if Stane’s patronizing? So what if he calls Steve by the wrong name? So what if he keeps Steve at work so late that the subway to his apartment no longer runs and he has to walk three miles from the closest one? So what if he dangles the threat of firing over Steve’s head to keep him working like a dog? It’s worth it.

Right?

Sometimes, he thinks that he might just give up and quit anyways if it weren’t for the man at his subway station.

SI is an expansive campus, spanning multiple city blocks with its own subway station intersecting three lines, one coming in from Brooklyn, one from Queens, and one from Manhattan. The station’s got an aboveground portion too because SI has some sort of train system to run across the campus. The train’s got two lines- one going to the West Campus and one going to the East.

Steve works in the West Campus, which handles the business side of Stark Industries. The man works in the East Campus, which handles all research and development, or at least he takes the East Campus train every morning so Steve thinks he works there.

Steve first met the man three years ago. Well, he says “met” but they haven’t said more than a handful of words to each other. He still remembers the day vividly. It had been early. Stane had kept him there so late the night before that Steve had ended up sleeping at his desk (Stane hadn’t; Stane had dumped an entire ream’s worth of paper on his desk, needing to be filed asap, and then waltzed out the door) and had just enough time to run back to his apartment to grab a change of clothes. He had been yawning wide enough that he could feel his jaw crack.

“You too, huh?” a voice beside him said.

Steve had jumped and then turned to the man beside him. His first immediate thought had been _Gorgeous_. The man (or Pretty Boy as Steve sometimes shamefully thought of him) had been about Steve’s age, maybe a few years younger. He had thick brown hair, an intricately styled goatee, and the prettiest Bambi eyes Steve had ever seen. More importantly though, he’d been wearing a bespoke suit that Steve was pretty sure cost his entire yearly salary and so his second thought had been _Out of my league_.

They’d stood there in silence as Steve gaped at the man. Finally, Pretty Boy had shifted uncomfortably and said, “Well, this is me,” right as the East Campus train had pulled in. He’d given Steve a tiny wave and been whisked away by the train.

And Steve had beaten his head against a pole for failing to talk to him.

They’d run into each other a lot over the following three years, not every morning but most morning, and always on the platform. Mostly, they don’t talk and what they do say was usually pretty inane. Steve doesn’t even know Pretty Boy’s name, just that he works at SI probably somewhere on the East Campus, which is huge.

He _does _know that Pretty Boy likes to wear makeup, usually just enough to give his cheeks some color and to outline his eyes (though Steve’s pretty sure that more work goes into it than that, judging by Nat’s makeup routine). Every once in a while, though, he shows up with bright red lipstick, winged eyeliner, the whole shebang. Pretty Boy’s always got a sly smirk on his face those days like he’s planning some sort of mischief. He’ll glance at Steve, give him a wink and a cheeky wave, and then disappear onto his train. Steve always just shifts his briefcase in front of him and smiles after him dopily.

So maybe he has to push his feelings down about his job. So maybe Bucky says that he’s repressing himself, stifling his creativity in this soul-sucking work environment. But every time he sees Pretty Boy smile at him, he remembers why he stays here.

* * *

Tony wishes he knew Hot Guy’s name. He thinks he’d like to ask him out but he can’t do that without a name. Unfortunately, the time to get that name passed like three years ago. At this point, it would just be awkward for him to ask for it.

So instead, he smiles at him whenever he sees him, enjoys the sight of Hot Guy’s blush (and pretends like he doesn’t want to see how far down that blush goes), and resolves that next time, he won’t say something stupid.

He never manages to though.

It could be worse though. At least he usually just ends up tongue tied. On bad days, he babbles. Hot Guy always just stares at him with this impossible to place look in his eyes. Tony can’t quite figure out if Hot Guy thinks he’s crazy or just plain weird, not that either one’s any good.

One time, Pepper offers to go with him so she can see what Tony’s been gushing about it for three years (“He gets you to come in to work early, Tony. I want to see what’s so great about him.”). Tony almost agrees too but then he thinks about all the times he’s called Pepper the light of his life.

“No!” he yelps.

Pepper has this annoyingly knowing look on her face but she doesn’t say anything about it and she doesn’t track down Hot Guy so Tony thinks it works out okay.

He’s on the phone with her this morning, arguing about how he doesn’t want to go to his meeting with Obie. Obie’s been with the company for ages, practically since Howard had started it and certainly since before Tony was born. And Tony likes Obie, he does, but Obie wants the company to keep making weapons and Tony…doesn’t. They’ve been arguing about it for almost six months. Tony’s almost at the point where he’s going to have to pull rank, which is going to go over like a lead balloon, he just knows it. It _is _his company and it _is _his name on the building but Obie’s his CEO. Having to pull rank is going to cause one hell of a rift between them.

He’s coming up the stairs to the platform, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, clutching onto the files he’s compiled to prove his point to Obie. Pep’s giving him more statistics but Tony’s only half paying attention because it’s windy and his files are trying to escape.

Hot Guy’s standing up there, looking incredibly tired. Tony’s figured out by now that Hot Guy works as a PA for someone in the company but he can’t figure out who. He wishes he knew. He’d totally fire them. Hot Guy doesn’t deserve to look that tired. No one does.

Tony is busy watching him and doesn’t notice that his grip is loosening on the files. He _does_ notice it though when a strong gust blows through the platform and he completely loses his grip on one of the papers.

“Gotta go, Pep,” he blurts out and hangs up to chase after the wayward paper. Fortunately, it blows right into Hot Guy’s arm, slowing it down enough that he can catch up to it when it flutters away. He grabs onto it, tucks it back into its folder, and offers Hot Guy a sheepish smile.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters.

Hot Guy shrugs. “No worries. Didn’t do any harm.”

They stand there in silence for a moment. Tony can’t stop stealing quick little glances at him, looking away when it looks like Hot Guy’s going to glance at him. Then Tony notices the papers that Hot Guy’s carrying.

“Got a meeting or something?” he asks. He winces as soon as he says it. Of course Hot Guy doesn’t have a meeting. He’s a PA. Although now that Tony’s thinking about it, he can’t help but remember all the times he’s sent Pepper to one of his meetings instead.

Hot Guy doesn’t seem to mind though. “Or something,” he says tiredly but he smiles as he says it.

Tony thinks about saying something, maybe asking what the meeting’s going to be on. Maybe asking who Hot Guy works for so he can fire them. But just as he’s starting to open his mouth, Tony’s train pulls into the station, stirring up another strong breeze. One of Hot Guy’s papers tugs free and blows right into Tony’s face. He’s startled silent.

“Sorry!” he hears and then Hot Guy’s hand is on Tony’s face, pulling the paper away.

Holy shit. His _hand _is on Tony’s _face_. This is the best day of his life.

He blinks his eyes back open and looks first at Hot Guy. Then a bright red mark on the paper catches his eye. Tony freezes. He always wears red lipstick on the days that he meets with Obie, mostly because it pisses Obie off, but it’s never backfired like this. He can’t help it. He lets out a helpless little laugh because what else is he supposed to do? He hopes the paper wasn’t important.

Hot Guy looks at him confusedly so Tony nudges his head in the direction of the paper. Hot Guy immediately looks at it. Tony wants to wait to see what his reaction is- this might be the most interaction they’ve ever had- but he hears, “Final boarding call for the East Campus,” over the loudspeaker and dashes for the train. He can’t miss this one. If he misses it, he won’t be able to finish the miniaturized arc reactor in time for his meeting with Obie and he _has _to have that or else all his arguments on turning the company’s focus to clean energy will be for naught.

He throws one last regretful look behind him as the train pulls away but Hot Guy’s still chuckling over the lipstick mark on the paper.

* * *

Steve looks up, intending to laugh about the lipstick mark with Pretty Boy- but Pretty Boy’s gone. The train’s gone too, the last car leaving the station as he watches. He thinks he catches a glimpse of Pretty Boy through one of the windows but he can’t be certain.

He sighs, pushes all the warm, fuzzy feelings from the interaction down deep inside so he can obsess over them tonight, and prepares for yet another day with Obadiah Stane.

* * *

Steve reprints another copy of the lipstick-stained paper when he gets to the office. It’s an important paper, one that Stane needs for some meeting he’s got today, but Steve can’t hand him the one that Pretty Boy had marked. That one’s special. It deserves to be framed or something.

Stane walks through the door at nine exactly. Steve’s been there for almost two hours by that point. “Good to see you, Sam,” Stane booms because he’s incapable of doing anything but boom. Steve grits his teeth against the words that want to break out, insist that Stane calls him by his actual name, but he swallows them. He can’t lose this job. He _can’t_, not when Bucky’s still being denied his benefits by the VA, not when his rent’s just gone up.

“I’ve got a meeting with Tony this morning over in the East Campus,” Stane informs him.

In all his years of working at SI, Steve’s never met Tony Stark, the elusive owner of the company. Stark supposedly spends all his time down in R&D. He occasionally has meetings here in the West Campus but he’s never once shown up to them, preferring to send his own PA, Virginia Something-or-other, to attend. He and Virginia have laughed about it a few times.

“Tony’s a good kid,” Virginia’s assured him more than once. “He’s just got a lot to deal with.”

Steve guesses he can understand that. He remembers hearing about Tony Stark about six months before he came to the company. Stark had just lost his parents, had just finished his PhD, and now had an entire company thrust onto his shoulders. He’d given a couple interviews for Time magazine and the like. His tone had always come across as a little overwhelmed and bewildered, even in print.

Stane sighs. “You got kids, Simon?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Good. You should keep it that way,” Stane says. Steve represses his unimpressed frown. “I don’t have kids myself but Tony’s as good as, you know? Tony- Tony’s got a good head on his shoulders but he’s just a little too high in the clouds. Needs to come back down to earth, realize that these dreams of his are pointless. We’re iron mongers, he and I. This company was built on weapons and that’s the way it should stay.”

Steve’s read the proposals that Stark sent over for this meeting. He thinks Stark’s proposals would be a big change for the company but a good one. But Stane doesn’t want to hear that. Stane wants to hear that Stark’s an idiot, which he clearly isn’t. He presses back the words and silently hands him the files.

Stane doesn’t even thank him. He just takes them and goes into his office. He comes back out and drops a huge pile of papers on his desk. “These need to be taken care of by the end of the day,” he says. “I’m headed out. Be back in a few hours, maybe a few minutes, depending how idealistic Tony’s gotten.”

Steve resolutely does not groan. The stack is at least two hundred pages thick. It’ll take him most of the day and that doesn’t even include everything else that he has to get accomplished. Looks like it’ll be another late night. He tugs the lipstick-marked paper out from under the bottom of the pile and smooths it out on the desk.

Stane keeps it warm in the office (Bucky jokes it’s because he’s the devil and this is his natural environment) so, as soon the door closes behind him, Steve opens the window beside him.

Of course, as soon as he does, the incoming breeze picks up Pretty Boy’s paper and attempts to carry it out the window. Steve lunges for the paper, catching it just before it floats out the window. He distractedly glances out the window. There’s a man in the building just across the street, working on something glowing. Steve’s building butts right up against the edge of the main R&D building in the East Campus and so weird sights and sounds are pretty normal coming from that building. He usually just ignores them.

Today should be like any other but something stops Steve. He looks again at the man. He knows that outline.

It’s Pretty Boy.

Pretty Boy’s window is also open and so Steve can just barely hear every time he swears at the glowing thing. Just as important, he can see the defeated look on his face. Pretty Boy shouldn’t look that dejected. He should be smiling always. Steve wants to make him smile.

He sits back at his desk. The problem is he can’t just yell “Pretty Boy” across the street. That would be rude and a little bit too much like objectification for his taste. But he wants to make him smile.

He looks down at the lipstick-stained paper and starts to reach for it, the barest traces of an idea coming to his mind. But then he stops. He can’t waste this paper. Pretty Boy touched this paper. It’s special.

He reaches instead for one of the ones that Stane dropped on his desk. Stane’s notorious for giving him busy work and this stack of papers is no different. They’re nonessential; Stane won’t know if they get filed or not. Quickly, he writes out the word _Hi_ and a smiley face on the paper. He folds it into a paper airplane and labels one of the wings with _Open me_. Then he stands, aims, and launches it out the window.

It goes two feet and then spirals down to the ground.

Steve watches it go, slightly stunned. He’s got great aim. He can’t imagine why he missed this time. He sits down and tries again. This one sails all the way across the street- and crashes into the wall beside the open window.

The next flies into the window just below Pretty Boy.

The one after that gets caught by the man in the office next to him. He opens it, reads the message, and waves eagerly at Steve. Steve weakly waves back. He stops writing the messages after that. He can always write one on the second one he sends after Pretty Boy gets the first.

One gets sideswiped by a flock of birds.

Steve’s getting ready to launch the thirty-fifth- maybe? He’s lost track of how many he’s sent out the window- when the door to Pretty Boy’s office opens. From this angle, Steve can’t tell who enters but he can tell by the look on Pretty Boy’s face that he’s nervous. He considers not throwing this one but, in the time that he’s deliberating, the other person leaves. Pretty Boy’s shoulders slump and he slouches into his chair. The glowing thing gets tossed in the trash where the light flickers and dies.

Steve throws it.

It crumples against the wall below the window.

Above the window.

Into the lamppost a hundred feet away because the breeze picks up.

Two of them manage to sail through the open window but they go right behind Pretty Boy and land in the trash can and he never sees them.

Stane comes back. There’s a look of surprise on his face about how much Steve has seemingly accomplished. The reward is another stack of papers. Steve swallows the words he wants to say about Stane being a bully and sends him a silent prayer of gratitude for the extra paper airplanes.

He keeps throwing them.

They keep missing.

Steve bangs his head against the wall but he keeps trying. At this point, he’s making them practically without looking, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Pretty Boy, making sure he doesn’t leave.

And then his hand bumps into the paper tray, sending it crashing to the floor. Steve winces, anticipating the inevitable flurry of papers flying into the air. But it doesn’t happen. The tray’s empty. Steve stares at it. He’s used up all of them making paper airplanes for Pretty Boy. He doesn’t even want to _think _about how many paper airplanes are littering the street currently.

“What’s going on out there?” Obie yells.

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the empty paper tray. He doesn’t even know why it’s so important that he get an airplane to Pretty Boy, only that he wants to make him smile and something is telling him that this is the best way to do so. Inevitably, his gaze slides to the lipstick-marked paper. He takes a deep breath and sits down.

Quickly, he draws out a sketch of Pretty Boy on the platform. There’s only one instance in their entire three years that Pretty Boy had gotten to the platform before Steve. Steve had come up the stairs and there Pretty Boy had been, silhouetted against the rising sun. He’d been the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. He draws out that scene quickly, drawing from his memory. He doesn’t have his colored pencils with him here but he can do a decent job of shading with the ink pens on his desk.

He finishes the drawing, folds the paper into the airplane so that the lipstick stain is on one of the wings, and stands to take it over to the window. He stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath. This is his last shot. This is-

The wind picks up, yanking the airplane out of his hand. Steve desperately tries to grab for it but it soars away and out of sight. He watches his last hope go and then looks up just in time to see Pretty Boy leave the room.

He sighs again, depressed this time. Well, that was it. He turns away from the window and jumps.

Stane’s standing right behind him with another stack of papers and a nasty smile. “Since you’re such a busy worker today,” he says and drops the stack onto Steve’s desk with a thud, “you can do these too. And remember, Sebastian: you’re replaceable.”

Steve thinks about swallowing back his words. But he’s tired of this, tired of taking Stane’s abuse lying down, tired of repressing his feelings and swallowing back his words so he can keep a job he despises. So when he sees Pretty Boy exiting the building across the street, he looks Stane in the eye and says firmly, “My name is Steve. And I quit.”

He grabs his jacket and runs out the door. He takes the stairs because the elevator takes too long, praying that Pretty Boy hasn’t gotten too far away yet. Except when he bursts through the doors, Pretty Boy’s nowhere in sight.

He sprints across the street, glances down a few alleys, but there’s no sign of him. Steve thinks again about the dejected slump to Pretty Boy’s shoulders and runs his hands through his hair. He can’t fail now. He’s come too far to fail. But Pretty Boy’s nowhere around. The only sign of the day that Steve wasted is the paper airplane with the lipstick mark sitting on a mailbox outside the building.

Steve glares at it. It’s not special. Not anymore. Not now that he’s failed. He snatches it up and launches it into the air, the way he wishes he could have before the wind had taken it. The airplane soars away, disappearing above the building.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and begins walking toward the train station.

* * *

In an alleyway some blocks away, a paper airplane with a lipstick stain comes to a rest in a pile of other paper airplanes. It sits there for a moment.

Then it tilts to one side.

It tilts to the other side.

It does a quick little shimmy forward.

It hops.

It hops again, gaining more height.

It lifts into the air and flies around the alleyway, stirring the other airplanes into flight. It lifts higher and higher, moving faster and faster as more and more paper airplanes join it, forming a whirlwind of paper airplanes.

And then, as a blond man stalks by the alleyway, a veritable thundercloud on his face-

The paper airplanes follow.

* * *

Steve hears a slight rustling behind him but figures it’s just someone walking so he ignores it. But then something presses against his leg, pushing him back. He looks down to see the paper airplane with the lipstick mark.

It’s too little too late. He tosses the airplane aside and keeps going.

The trail of paper airplanes doesn’t like that and five of them promptly attach themselves to his chest, halting him in his steps. He shoves them all away but he can’t even take a single step but more of them fix themselves to him, surrounding him in a cloud of paper airplanes.

They’re shoving him in a direction but he doesn’t know where. He doesn’t know how the paper airplanes are doing this and he’s not entirely certain he even wants to know, less certain that he wants to follow them but they’re not giving him a choice. They push him into the street, bounce him across to the other side, and pull him down another road.

The first of them- the one with the lipstick mark- detaches from his chest, zips around his head, and then zooms away out of sight. The others keep prodding him down the road they want him to follow.

Steve gives a resigned sigh- and follows.

* * *

Tony’s debating getting flowers for Pepper to thank her for all of her hard work. He knows that the meeting went poorly- _God_, it went poorly- but she’d done an excellent job. It isn’t her fault that Stane had dismissed everything they’d compiled, dismissed the arc reactor, dismissed _Tony_.

He’d even patted Tony on the head like he was a misbehaving child.

He’s just getting ready to point to small spray of pansies when a paper airplane flies past his head and lands in the flowers. That alone would be enough for Tony to take notice but then he spots the lipstick mark on one of the wings. He leans closer, intent on a closer look. It can’t really be-

The airplane shivers and then launches itself out of the flowers. It circles Tony’s head once and then flies off. After a moment, it comes back and circles him again. Tony laughs delightedly, not certain why a paper airplane is flying on its own, but it’s too cool an opportunity to miss- so he follows.

* * *

Steve’s still bouncing down the street. Sometimes, one of the paper airplanes falls away from him but they stay where they land. Steve can’t figure out any sort of rhyme or reason to it. But he does know one thing- it’s irritating being herded across the campus for absolutely no reason.

* * *

The airplane zips around the corner of the staircase to the train platform Tony normally gets off at in the mornings. Usually, when he leaves in the evening, Happy picks him up so Tony’s never gone up there in the evenings, just the mornings (he never tells anyone that the only reason he takes the train in the mornings is so he can see Hot Guy but he’s pretty sure they all know anyway). Tony follows it up the stairs.

* * *

The airplanes are tugging Steve up the stairs of the platform. He’s so absolutely confused and overwhelmed and he grabs onto the first post he can, holding onto it for dear life. The airplanes lift him into the air, swirling around him, loosening his grip on the post. He makes a grab for the railing as soon as he lets go of the post but misses.

* * *

Tony chases the airplane around the platform but it keeps darting out of his reach. The next train arrives. The airplane flies inside and sets off flying down the train. Eagerly, Tony follow, trying to catch it as it moves from car to car.

“Sorry!” he calls as he trips over someone’s bag but he doesn't stop.

* * *

Steve tries to catch the doors to the train as he’s pulled in but the paper airplanes are a lot stronger than he is and he’s forced inside. He sits grumpily on a seat near the doors, arms crossed, wondering what his life has come to that he quit his job and got attacked by magical paper airplanes in one day.

The paper airplanes are unmoving against him. He thinks about trying for another escape attempt while they’re still but, as soon as he gets up, they come back to life and force him back into his seat.

He crosses his arms again and pretends that he doesn’t notice the young woman three seats away getting up and moving to another seat.

* * *

The paper airplane has stopped moving, coming to rest on a seat. Tony picks it up and sits down. He’s got the time now to look at it. It _does _seem to be the same paper that had flown into his face this morning. He smiles to himself. He’d had no idea that Hot Guy was so whimsical.

There’s some sort of sketch folded into the airplane, Tony notices. He carefully opens the airplane to see himself working on the arc reactor, drawn in pen. The artist had drawn him in painstaking detail, making him absolutely beautiful. Tony would have called it lovingly drawn if he’d known anything about how Hot Guy felt.

“Oh,” he whispers. He traces the tip of his finger over the bright red lipstick Hot Guy had given him and ducks his head to hide his blush despite being alone in the car. There’s a message written above the sketch that simply says, “Sorry you had a bad day.”

Tony blushes deeper and quickly folds the airplane back into its shape.

They’re pulling into the station where Tony sees Hot Guy in the mornings. The airplane’s still not moving but something tells Tony that this is where he’s supposed to be. He bounces the airplane in his hands as he leaves the train, double checking that it’s not going to take flight again.

There’s a soft rustle behind him and then another paper airplane flies by his feet, followed by a dozen more. Tony turns to see Hot Guy standing there, looking incredibly sheepish and maybe a little hopeful, completely covered in paper airplanes. Tony can’t help but wonder if they were all meant for him.

“Hi,” he says softly.

Hot Guy brushes the paper airplanes away from him and steps closer. “Hi,” he replies. He holds out his hand and then tugs Tony closer when he takes it. Tony goes willingly. After all, this is something that they’ve been building up to for three years. “I’m Steve.”

Tony smiles. “Tony.”


End file.
